by Jayce Carter
When Tara didn’t answer, Chris jumped in to rescue her. “Through her brother.”
“Pat? He’s hot,” Kathy said.
Tara rolled her eyes, having grown used to that sort of reaction. While Tara had always been the nerdy, safe, fat girl, Patrick was forever the heartthrob. What used to gross her out no longer fazed her.
Chris only chuckled at the declaration. “I’ll take your word on that. I can’t say he’s ever been my type.”
“Clearly,” Harry chimed in from across the table.
Everyone ignored the jab. “Well, Tara hasn’t ever mentioned you. Has she been keeping you secret?”
Tara tipped her glass back for a larger drink to take the edge off the interrogation.
Chris didn’t seem rattled as he answered casually, “It’s still pretty new.”
She huffed a laugh, snorting some of her drink to burn her sinuses on the alcohol.
Chris pinched her thigh. “Tara wanted to keep things quiet until we were together for a while.”
“But you said it was still new,” Kathy questioned.
Chris slid an arm around Tara, pulling her against his side as easily as if they really had been dating. He flashed a smile so bright she swore panties dropped all around the table, including hers. “I was impatient. When you find someone like her, taking things slow doesn’t seem so easy.”
Harry grunted, the noisy sort of protest a dog made when told to lie down and it wanted to make sure everyone knew it wasn’t happy. A token protest more about needing to be heard than making any real statement.
Kathy ate up the story, her chin on her hand, her lips spread into a wide grin. “Are you coming to the wedding?”
“I don’t think so,” Harry interrupted. “My wedding isn’t the place to show off this little joke.”
Hannah turned toward him, glaring. “Be nice, Harry,” she chastised.
He looked at Hannah, his face shifting from those lines she knew so well, the ugliness that he liked to hide beneath a charming smile, to the mask he wore. “Sorry,” he said softly, lowering his voice as if the table weren’t small enough that everyone couldn’t still hear him anyway. “But she’s doing this because she wants to turn our wedding into a joke. That isn’t her boyfriend, I mean, come on. Look at him compared to her! I’m not going to let her try to turn our day into her little show.”
Chris spoke, voice steady. “You invited her with a plus one, didn’t you?”
Harry opened his mouth, snapped it shut, then tried again. “Yeah, we did, but we knew she wasn’t going to bring anyone.”
“Well, surprises are fun, aren’t they?”
Harry sat there, dumbfounded when Chris didn’t rise to his veiled insults. After another moment, he rose to his feet. “We’ve got to see the wedding planner tomorrow morning.” His hand went to his fiancée’s arm, tugging her softly until she rose with him.
She offered a sweet thank you for the nice night before Harry all but dragged her from the bar.
The moment they left, Kathy broke into laughter. It didn’t take more than a few seconds before the laughter spread across the table to everyone except Tara, who didn’t find it all that funny.
His parting words still stung, and Tara lifted her hand for the waitress to bring her another drink.
Because despite him running off, despite Harry being a cheating asshole, he hadn’t been wrong about the way he’d looked at Tara and Chris.
The plan had been stupid, and she had no idea how to get out of it now.
* * * *
Chris wrapped an arm around Tara’s waist as they walked toward the door of the bar. She’d drank too many of those fruity drinks, and the sugar in them tended to hide the liquor until it knocked someone on their ass.
She’d drunk enough to hit that point about twenty minutes prior, when she’d nearly fallen out of the low, large open window that let a cool breeze in.
Still, she’d loosened up when the alcohol had started to flow. Watching her laugh with her friends had been fun, and he’d mostly contented himself with listening to their stories.
“Easy, girl,” he said as she stumbled, lacking the coordination needed to both walk and reach into her purse. He yanked her tighter to his side as she fished around. “If you think you’re driving home, you’re dead wrong.”
She released a less than lady-like burp before she pulled her phone from her pocket. “I’m not an idiot.” She lifted her phone to just in front of her, as though she’d suddenly lost all her sight farther than three inches from her face. The phone swayed in her grip as she stabbed a finger at the screen.
“Having problems?”
“The rideshare button keeps moving,” she complained, as if it were the phone and not her drunken vision that was the problem.
Chris reached over and plucked the phone from her grip. “There’s no way in hell you’re having some stranger driving you home when you’re plastered.”
She started to argue, but Chris hit a button on her phone, then held it to his ear, ignoring her.
After a minute, Patrick’s groggy voice answered. “You’d better be in jail if you’re calling me at this hour.”
“Your sister can’t hold her liquor.”
“She always has been a lightweight.” A groaning that meant he’d sat up, then a murmured whisper, probably to Gena. Good—he didn’t need her on his ass for waking them up. A moment later, Patrick came back, as if he’d left the room. “Where is she?”
“That bar, The Palace, up the 92. She was about to call a rideshare—”
“Like hell,” Patrick snapped.
“Exactly what I said. You want to come get her?”
“Can you take her home? I’ll grab her car in the morning before work and drop it off, but I’m not looking forward to driving out there at this hour.”
Chris dug his fingers into Tara’s side to keep her against him even as she teetered, but her drunken giggle got him smiling. “Yeah, sure.”
Patrick’s glare was almost loud enough to hear through the line. “I don’t think I need to tell you to keep your dick in your pants, right? She’s my sister, and she’s drunk.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Chris said, phone pinned between his ear and his shoulder as he fished in his pocket for the keys to his rental truck. “You know me well enough to know I wouldn’t do that.”
“That’s the only reason I said yes to this stupid idea. Men’s dicks make bad choices, so I wanted to remind you that I have a gun and no issue using it.”
“Message understood.” Chris hung up, and it took another few minutes to wrangle the drunk woman into his truck.
She argued with him, even as he leaned across her to buckle her seatbelt. “I can get myself home.”
“Fighting with me is just going to make this take longer, but I’m going to personally put your ass into bed.”
“This a full-service fake-date, then?” He was leaned over her, fastening her seatbelt, when she asked.
He looked at her, his face so close he could have darted his tongue out and tasted her. He’d bet she’d be sweet, that her lips would still have the fruity tinge of her drinks. The desire to lick it off gripped him.
But she was drunk, so he contented himself with words instead. “Depends. What sort of servicing are you wanting from me?” He slid his lips into a grin and let all the perverted things in his mind show on his face.
Even sloshed, Tara seemed to read the look for exactly what it was, and it shut her up for a minute, stunning her into silence.
He took the chance to slam the passenger door closed and get into the driver’s side. The engine roared to life, and he got the truck moving before she forced her stumbling mind back to working.
Or at least working well enough to argue.
Except, she didn’t argue. She didn’t shoot back anything, instead crossing her arms and sitting back on the wide bench seat, the action pressing an even more tempting line of cleavage into view.
The silence got to Chris as they drov
e on the dark roads, Joshua trees passing them in the empty, spread-out desert.
“So, why’d you agree to go to the wedding?”
She let her head rest on the seat, her eyes closed, the length of her tempting throat on display. “Because if I didn’t, I’d be the pathetic ex who was hiding.”
“So? Why do you care what other people think?”
“Everyone cares what other people think. Some people just hide it better.”
Chris frowned as he steered the car onto another road, his phone beeping as Patrick sent her address. “Not everyone cares.”
“Right.” She snorted softly. “Like you didn’t see all those looks we got?”
“What looks?”
“Harry said it pretty well. We are a joke. No one is going to buy that shit.”
“What shit?” Chris frowned, wondering what the hell she was on about. Was she drunk enough to be talking nonsense?
“That you’d actually be into me. I don’t need my ass stroked. I know what I look like.”
He took his eyes off the road to offer her a heated look. “I wouldn’t mind stroking your ass, girl.”
She turned a hard gaze on him. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t act like this is something other than what it is. I’m not stupid, okay? I was willing to let you off the hook, but if we’re going to do this, you don’t need to pretend. I know it’s not real, so let’s not do this bullshit.”
“Bullshit? I’m sorry, but I don’t bullshit. In fact—” He turned toward her again, only to find her eyes closed and her mouth open.
She’d passed out.
Well, guess that’s one way to end a conversation.
He easily got her to the address Patrick had supplied. She didn’t even stir when he took her purse and got her keys out.
It solidified his choice not to let her take a rideshare driven by who knew who. She was so drunk anything could have happened to her.
As he lifted her sleeping body and carried her in, his annoyance grew. The woman should know better. What if he had been someone else? Anyone who got that drunk needed a sober friend to keep an eye out for them. It wasn’t smart any other way.
Come morning, he’d have a conversation with her about making better choices.
Still, as he moved her, he found he liked the way she fit into his arms. She was solid, and her dress had ridden up high enough that he knew anyone watching would have gotten a look at whatever she’d worn underneath.
Damn, I wish I’d caught a glimpse.
He banished the stray thought, reminding himself that he wasn’t an asshole. She was drunk and hardly conscious. He could get into her pants another time, when she’d have enough wits to make it fun.
She muttered, a few curse words falling from her lips when he settled her into the bed. She tossed a leg up as she rolled to her side, showing off the bottom curve of her ass where the lace of some black boy-shorts underwear cut across her pale skin.
Chris rubbed his hand over his mouth before pulling her shoes off despite her argument, then covered her with a blanket.
His cock, hard and aching, had some stupid ideas, but he ignored the bastard as he walked out of the room, leaving the difficult woman to sleep off the alcohol.
Chapter Three
Tara shuddered at the vile taste in her mouth.
Why the hell had she drunk so much the night before? She’d woken up at about three a.m., no longer drunk but with a headache that made her wish she could have slept for another year.
Alcohol is not your friend, Tara. You aren’t in college anymore.
If Chris hadn’t thought she was an idiot before, he sure as hell would now. She remembered, vaguely, him driving her home. At least she’d managed not to throw up on him. That was something, right? Don’t try to make this better. You made a fool out of yourself in front of the best-looking man you’ve ever seen.
She gargled mouthwash for a minimum of five minutes before deciding it was as good as she could get.
At least she had the weekend off. She didn’t have to be back in the office until Monday, meaning she’d be able to rest, and maybe by Monday morning, she’d feel somewhat human again.
Maybe.
After a quick, hot shower, Tara dried off. She pulled her long hair back into a ponytail, then left her bedroom to try and spark some life into her with a cup of coffee big enough that she could hear her doctor frown. She didn’t bother with a robe or towel, the slight chill in her small duplex nice on her skin, given the heat of summers in the desert. Even overnight, the temperature hadn’t really dropped much.
She’d rather have spent another few hours lounging in bed, but she doubted more sleep would come. She kept replying the night with Chris.
Chris, who had starred in enough of her dreams that she’d comfortably call it an obsession. Chris, who had looked way too good the night before.
Chris, who was standing in her living room with no shirt on.
Tara stopped, giving her time to stare at the nice sight he made. His hair was slicked back from his forehead, his chest bare, his jeans low on his hips. She’d thought those rolled-up sleeves were a thing of beauty, but damn, that was nothing compared to the full picture.
He was built, with the morning light catching on the lines of muscles on his chest, his sculpted shoulders, his biceps that bulged when he lifted a glass to his lips.
Speaking of bulges. Her gaze drifted down to his jeans.
Only when he cleared his throat did Tara realize he’d caught her ogling him like a piece of meat.
And far too late, the other part hit her.
I am naked.
As in, not a single stitch of clothing to hide her shame while she stood in front of the hottest man she’d ever seen in her entire life. He was able to see every curve of hers, every stretch mark and place she tried to use flattering lines to hide.
“Shit,” she snapped, covering her breasts while also using her arm to lift them slightly, trying to make them look a little less deflated than usual. Not that it mattered, since she turned her back and all but leaped from the room as fast as her chubby little legs could carry her.
His laughter followed her, and she doubted her cheeks could get any warmer unless they burst into flames, which might not be such a bad thing. At least if she burned to nothing, she wouldn’t have to face Chris.
A few quick yanks and she’d pulled on a shirt and a pair of yoga pants. The shirt was long, falling just past her ass, and she didn’t bother with a bra. While she should have, she needed to deal with the half-naked man in her kitchen who had just seen her fully naked.
Bras were a far-gone second place on her order of current disasters.
She came back out, ready to yell, only to find Chris pouring a cup of coffee and setting it on the small kitchen island that served as her dining room table. He pushed it to the center like a peace offering.
She wasn’t feeling all that peaceful, especially as her clothing teased her over-sensitive body.
Had he really seen her naked? Even her ex-husband hadn’t gotten a full-frontal view like that, since Tara usually subscribed to ‘less is more’ when it came to her nudity. She’d half-expected to find him gone before she’d come back out, complete with those cartoon skid marks, because he’d bail once he’d gotten a good look at her.
“What are you doing here?” Tara slid into a stool beside the island, then pulled the coffee in front of her. At the first sip, she grimaced.
Chris shrugged and pushed the sugar toward her, as if saying he’d tried his best. “You were drunk off your ass.” His gaze dropped down, as if he could still see her naked. His eyes heated, almost like lust, but that couldn’t be. Men like him don’t lust after girls like me. He likes blondes with more tits than brains.
“And? That explains you getting me home, not why you’re still here.”
“Patrick would kill me if I left you alone in that state. I like my balls exactly where they are, thank you very
much.”
Talk of his balls made her gaze drift down again, over the muscles of his abs, the V-shape they tapered into, the way his jeans hung so low that she’d bet a flick of that button would reveal it all.
And she wanted to reveal it, which surprised the hell out of her. Harry had called her frigid enough times in their marriage to make her believe it. Their fumbling sex had been bearable at the best of times, and after the first few attempts, she’d never been excited for it.
She’d gone into it with the same feeling she had about getting a pap smear. It had to be done, and if she just lay back and closed her eyes, the person would be done poking around soon enough.
So, the fact that her thoughts went renegade on her, that they took a swan dive into the X-rated, shocked her.
“Distracted again?” His voice held loads of gotcha that had her cheeks heating.
“Well, I’m awake and sober, so I think we’re good.”
“But if I hang around, maybe you’ll forget I’m here again.” His gaze turned blatant, tracing down her, pausing at her chest.
She crossed her arms, wishing she’d made putting on a bra a higher priority. Her nipples pressed against her arm, and she felt naked again beneath his lusty stare. “That’s not happening.”
He came closer, leaning his hip against the counter beside her. At her height in her chair, she had to look up at him, her line of sight at his nipples, the flat discs she wanted to—
Focus, damn it!
“Tonight is dinner at my mother’s.”
She frowned, then realized where the conversation had gone while she’d been distracted by his body. “You still want to do that?”
“Of course. She’s expecting us.”
“Why are you shirtless? Could you please get dressed?” Tara snapped when she struggled to keep looking him in the eyes.
He offered an already familiar half-smirk, and she swore he pulled his shoulders back to puff out his chest. “Why would I do that? I like how distracted you get. Makes it easier to argue with you.”
“Do you get off on this?”
